by Maya Banks
well acquainted with. And she hated that feeling, had sworn no one—no man—would ever make her feel vulnerable and afraid again.
“If I implied you were heartless, I apologize,” she said quietly, hoping he could hear and see her sincerity.
She’d lifted her hands from her lap and rested them on the table and Jensen reached for one, surprising her with the speed of his capturing it before she could withdraw. Almost as if he’d anticipated such a reaction.
“I didn’t think you implied anything. No offense was given or taken.”
She went utterly still as his hand continued to cover hers. He didn’t tighten his fingers around her hand. She couldn’t really even consider it holding hands, but his hand blanketed hers, warm, heavy. Thankfully, her wrist was not facing up or surely he would be able to feel how rapidly her pulse beat.
Desperate to keep the topic to business, she casually pulled her hand away, reaching for her glass of water as if she only wanted a drink and wasn’t breaking free from his grasp. The quick flash of amusement in his expression told her he hadn’t been fooled for a moment. Did nothing escape this man’s attention?
As if conceding to her thoughts, or perhaps because her desperation showed, he leaned back and resumed their conversation.
He studied her intently, his gaze more professional than before. This dynamic was one she was more comfortable with. Boss and employee. Not a man and a woman sharing an intimate dinner. A date for God’s sake. She hoped to hell this didn’t qualify.
“I’ve incorporated many of your ideas into my final proposal, as they align with my own. I’ll have the completed analysis for you to look over on the drive to the meeting tomorrow.”
She’d nearly forgotten that they’d already ordered and this was in fact a dinner when the waiter arrived with their entrées. Silence descended as their plates were set, glasses filled with wine, the bottle left on the table at Jensen’s request. Then the waiter silently departed, leaving the two in seclusion once more.
She stared down at the filet and lobster she’d ordered. They looked succulent. Perfectly cooked and yet she was so unnerved by . . . Jensen. It was him. She’d certainly had dealings with other men. It wasn’t as if she’d avoided any and all contact with them in her adulthood. But none of them had ever made her feel as starkly vulnerable as Jensen did. And he was absolutely the kind of ruthless man who’d exploit any weakness, take advantage and swoop in like an avenging god.
She mentally rolled her eyes. God, Kylie. Dramatic much? You’re a flaming moron. You flatter yourself to even imagine he has any interest in you whatsoever. He just likes pissing you off and you’re an easy target. Eat your damn food and quit pretending this is a date and not the business matter it is before you really freak yourself out.
After chiding herself, something she seemed to do with more frequency since meeting Jensen, she dove into the delicious-smelling food. The flavor burst over her taste buds and she hummed her pleasure before she could call back the sound.
“Good?” Jensen asked.
She glanced up to see his gaze fastened solidly on her mouth. Following the up and down motion of her jaw as she chewed. His eyes glittered predatorily and for a moment she couldn’t swallow.
Finally forcing down the food, chasing it with wine she couldn’t even taste, she nodded.
“It’s wonderful,” she said in a husky voice she didn’t recognize.
God, she was acting like they were out on a date. Making cute and feeling awkward over the sudden absence of conversation.
“I’m glad it meets with your approval,” he said. “It’s one of my favorite places to eat.”
She actually did roll her eyes then. “That somehow doesn’t surprise me.”
He arched one dark eyebrow in question. “Why would you say that?”
She shrugged. “It suits you. Very . . . masculine. Your kind of crowd.”
He pinned her with an imperious look. “And what crowd is that?”
“Powerful,” she said after giving a moment’s contemplation. “Wealthy. When I first walked in I thought, ‘This is a place that caters to rich old farts.’”
He laughed, startling her with the rich, vibrant sound that rumbled from his throat. She would have never imagined laughter to be beautiful. Laughter was alien to her anyway. But coming from a man who rarely smiled, it sounded almost magical. She wanted to hear it again. Savor the sound for the brief pleasure it gave her.
“You think me a rich old fart?”
She grinned then, teeth flashing, and she hoped she didn’t have any food in those teeth. How embarrassing would that be?
“Definitely not old.”
“So a rich fart then. I feel so much better,” he said dryly.
“You have to admit, everything about this place caters to wealth and power.” She gestured to the walls. “How many restaurants do you know of that hang portraits on their walls of older men who look like judges or politicians or bankers or some other guy who founded some corporation and has loads of money?”
His lips twitched and he took another sip of his wine, licking his upper lip to remove the excess moisture. Her breath hitched and she yanked her gaze away from his mouth.
“I know nothing about the whims of the proprietor, or whom he wants to cater to. All I know is that they serve a damn fine steak and their service is impeccable. I’m easy that way, though.”
“You like your creature comforts. Fine food and being waited on hand and foot.”
She didn’t intend it to be an insult, and she hoped he didn’t take it as such. It was merely an observation spoken aloud, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been. She didn’t want to encourage anything more than a strictly professional relationship with him. She had friends—good friends—and she wasn’t looking to broaden that small, intimate group. But she might have no choice since Jensen would surely be included in more of her friends’ get-togethers.
He shrugged. “Who doesn’t? Life is short. I choose to enjoy life’s pleasures, even the little ones.”
She sucked in her breath, pain sharp through her chest. He was certainly right about that. Why couldn’t she be as simple as he? She, more than anyone, knew she should move on, quit living in the past, grab onto the good in life. Let go of the bad. The bad was behind her, wasn’t it? She’d moved way beyond her past. And yet? She was stuck much like a truck in the mud, buried to the bumpers. Still allowing her past and fears to rule her present.
Weak. She was weak and she was so damn tired of feeling that way. Acting strong didn’t make her so. It just made her an abrasive, standoffish bitch, and she wasn’t proud of that. Thank God her friends—the people who loved her—accepted her, warts and all. She couldn’t even contemplate her life without them. That unconditional love and support.
She’d very nearly botched things royally with Joss. She’d said unforgivable things to her sister-in-law. Things that had hurt Joss and had made Kylie feel an inch tall. But Joss was . . . Well, she was Joss. A sweet and loving heart incapable of holding a grudge or withholding her forgiveness. Kylie wished with all her heart that she could be more like Joss.
“That’s a very good philosophy to have,” she said, able to admit it even if she wasn’t able to practice it. Yet. But she was determined to get there. One day. And soon, damn it.
He nodded. And as she suspected he would do, he said, “One you should adhere to.”
“We were talking about you, not me,” she said lightly, directing the conversation away from her. Always away from her. Anything beyond the superficial pleasantries with her was strictly off-limits. She’d already allowed him to see far more than anyone ever should.
“Would you care for dessert?”
She blinked at the abruptness and his instant acceptance of her diverting attention away from herself. It would seem he had at least some give to him. Who knew?
Then she glanced down at her half-eaten entrée and smiled ruefully. “No. I’d much rather fill up on the rest of my steak and l
obster. It’s delicious and there’ll be no room for anything more. Besides, we should be going soon. Early morning for us both tomorrow.”
She forced the same lightness into her tone so it wouldn’t seem as though she was in a hurry, dismissing him. But again, that gleam in his eyes told her he saw far more than she was comfortable with. She was beginning to think he was a damn mind reader with extrasensory perception.
“Finish then, but take your time. Tomorrow morning is no earlier than any other business day for us. I know well what time you’re in the office every morning and it’s certainly not eight.”
Of course he would know. She punched no time clock. She was salaried and Dash had always been absolutely flexible with her hours, though she never took advantage of that. It had been easy to lose herself in work after Carson died. It kept her occupied, an outlet. At work she could blank out her grief and desolation. At home, she didn’t have any distractions. And at home, she was alone. Achingly alone. So she was always in the office between six thirty and seven each morning. Normally before Dash ever came in.
But with Jensen’s arrival, to her annoyance, he often beat her in and was in his office when she entered her own.
She was nearly finished with the succulent feast before her when she glanced up and saw a man walking from the far right of the restaurant toward a table in the back. Not very far from where she and Jensen sat.
She froze, the food she’d consumed now sitting like lead in her stomach. Bile rose and her hand shook so badly that she dropped the fork, the noisy clang startling in the silence.
She knew her face had drained of blood. She was utterly paralyzed and she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t force much-needed air into her lungs. Her chest constricted tighter and tighter and her throat followed suit until she was well into a full-blown anxiety attack.
Perspiration beaded her forehead and upper lip. The desire to flee, to run as fast as she was able and to get as far away from this place as possible seized her. But she couldn’t make her legs obey. Couldn’t even manage the simple act of breathing, much less acting on her desire to get away.
And then Jensen was right in her face, kneeling on the floor next to her chair. His hand jerked her chin so she was forced to look at him and away from the man who was now seated, alone, several tables away from theirs.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded sharply. “Damn it, Kylie, breathe. You’re going to pass out if you don’t start breathing now.”
She tried to obey the forceful command even though it humiliated her beyond measure that he was witnessing her falling completely apart. But her lungs were frozen, her chest so constricted she hadn’t a hope of breathing.
An anxious-looking waiter immediately appeared, offering his assistance, asking if she needed help. Jensen turned on him, his face a black thundercloud.
“Leave us,” he barked. “She’ll be fine.”
Would she? She didn’t feel fine. She didn’t feel as though she’d ever be fine. A wave of despair hit her and the room swayed around her. She knew she was precariously close to blacking out.
“I have to go,” she croaked out. “Now. I have to leave. Now,” she said again, with more emphasis.
The words were hard to form around her starving lungs, the knot in her throat making her voice hoarse and raspy.
Jensen did a quick scan of the room, following the direction of where she’d been staring when she’d freaked out. Shame rolled over her, wave after humiliating wave.
“Who is he?” Jensen asked in a menacing tone. “What the hell did he do to you?”
The barely controlled violence in his voice made her shudder. Black spots danced in front of her eyes and she tried again to pull in a breath, anything to ease the horrible pain in her chest.
“No one,” she croaked. “He just looked like . . .” She trailed off helplessly and to her further horror, tears slipped down her cheeks. “He reminded me of someone. Please, can we just leave?”
“The hell I’m letting you drive home in your condition.”
He got up, tossed several bills onto the table, then pulled her to her feet, instantly propelling her toward the entrance, not stopping until they were outside, fresh air blowing over her like the most soothing balm.
Some of the tightness eased. Her horrific fear began to subside, leaving stark embarrassment in its wake.
“Breathe,” Jensen ordered even as he barked an order to the valet to get his car.
She sucked in breath after breath, gulping at the air greedily until finally the tightness eased and the spots receded. The world had stopped its sickening swaying, but as she tried to step away from Jensen and his hold on her, her knees buckled, and with a muttered curse, he hauled her right back up against his side, his arm anchoring her there so she couldn’t move.
His warmth bled into her icy cold skin. Permeated the arctic layer surrounding her.
“My c-car,” she stammered. “I can’t leave my car here.”
“Fuck your car,” he said rudely. “You aren’t driving anywhere tonight. I’m taking you home. We’ll get your car tomorrow after the meeting.”
FOUR
THE drive to Kylie’s house was strained and silent. Jensen cursed a blue streak every time he glanced sideways to her pale face and tortured eyes. She sat rigid in her seat, hands clenched together in a ball in her lap. Her gaze was directed forward, like she was in some trance, not even taking in his presence.
She’d scared the fuck out of him in the restaurant. And then his fear had quickly turned to rage when he realized that the man seated several tables away had scared the holy hell out of her. He’d wanted to go beat the man into a pulp, but then she’d said he only reminded her of someone. Since the man was older, he could well imagine just who he’d reminded her of and he swore all over again.
His instinct was to take her home. His home. Where he knew he could protect her from anything that could possibly hurt her. But she wouldn’t take that at all. She’d likely dissolve into another panic attack, and the one had already put a vicious strain on her.
So he’d take her home. To her home. But damn if he was leaving her in this state. She wouldn’t want him there, but too fucking bad. No way he was leaving her to endure her private hell alone.
Kylie needed someone, though she’d never admit that. She saw it as a weakness, and she was a woman who’d die before allowing others to see her perceived weaknesses. Damn it, didn’t she realize that everyone needed someone at some point in their lives?
And he wanted to be that person she needed even though he knew he was all wrong for her. He wasn’t the man she wanted, that much was obvious. But she did need him. He knew it as well as he knew anything else. Unwavering certainty.
He just had to crack those walls and peel back the layers to the vulnerable, fragile woman behind that iron façade.
It wouldn’t be easy. He wasn’t stupid enough to ever assume that. But nothing good or worth it was ever easy. And he knew in his gut that no matter how crazy it might make him, she was worth it.
He had to tread lightly though, and consider doing something he’d never been willing to do before. Especially for a woman. Let go of his tightly held control and hand over that control—or at least the semblance of control—to her.
It was a new experience for him. One he wasn’t altogether sure was to his liking. It would be hard for a man like him, used to being in control over every aspect of his life. But Kylie needed security. She needed . . . confidence. She needed to be able to trust him, and if he was going to gain that trust, he was going to have to do the bending for them. Because she wouldn’t. She’d refuse to bend until she finally broke. And she was nearing that point with every passing day and every sleepless night. Because if she was sleeping then he was a monkey’s uncle.
He’d be willing to bet everything he owned that her past intruded on her dreams on a nightly basis. He’d seen the evidence far too many times. The bruised shadows in her eyes and under them. Her paleness. The fatigue that be
at relentlessly at her, that he could sense with her every breath.
Tonight she’d sleep and she’d sleep knowing she was safe. Because he wasn’t leaving her in this state. No way in hell.
And so he readied himself for the ensuing confrontation, knowing she’d object to his presence in her home. Her space. Perhaps the only place she truly felt safe. But no, that wasn’t true either, because in sleep, even in her closely guarded sanctuary, her dreams tortured her.
Not tonight. Not if he had any damn thing to do with it.
When they pulled into her drive, he got out before she could say anything at all and walked around to open her door, not waiting for her to accept his outstretched hand. He simply reached in, gently took hold of those icy cold fingers and pulled her from the car.
Her gait was unsteady and so, as he’d done outside the restaurant, he pulled her into the safety of his side, tucking her underneath his shoulder as he walked her to her door.
He knew she expected to brush him off once they reached the door. Issue a stiff, polite good-night and perhaps even a stilted thank-you for his help. But then she’d retreat inside and back to her private hell, shutting the door, barring him from her domain.
Fuck that.
He plucked the keys from her hand and unlocked the door, ushering her forward, making sure he was with her the entire way, and only then did he close the door and lock it.
“Jensen,” she protested. “I’m fine. Thank you, but I’m okay now. It was stupid. And embarrassing. But I’d rather be alone right now. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“You’ll see me right now,” he said grimly.
Even as he spoke, he directed her toward what he guessed was her bedroom. Her house, as he’d suspected, was the picture of tranquility. Her haven. Not a single thing out of place. A study in calm and peace.
She resisted when they reached her bedroom, turning, a fierce, stubborn glint to her eyes. “You can go now, Jensen.” No trace of her earlier panic attack was evident in her eyes. But it was the tight lines around her lips. The strain in her forehead and the paleness of her face that told him otherwise.
She wasn’t okay and he wasn’t leaving.
“Get dressed for bed while I fix us both a drink. Is your bar stocked? I think something strong is called for.”
She paled and then shook her head. “Only wine, and I rarely indulge. Usually only when I go out with Chessy and Joss or if I’m over at one of their houses.”
“Then wine it is. You need something to relax you. You have five minutes to change if you don’t want me walking in while you’re getting undressed.”
After that directive, he strode out of her bedroom, closing the door so she would be assured complete privacy. He purposely took longer than five minutes because he knew she likely spent the first several minutes arguing with herself and forming all sorts of ways to tell him to go fuck himself.
He shrugged. He’d had far worse said to him. And he had already discovered her bark was far more ferocious than her bite. Underneath the tough exterior lay a soft heart and an even softer soul.
He poured them both a glass, though he had no desire for the drink. His thoughts were too consumed with Kylie and the episode he’d witnessed at the restaurant. Whether she wanted to or not, she was going to explain to him exactly what the hell had spurred that panic attack. He had a good idea, but he wanted to hear it from her. Wanted her to trust him enough to open up and perhaps talk about things she never spoke of to anyone else.
It was an unrealistic expectation, but it didn’t prevent him from wanting it.
When he shouldered his way back into her bedroom, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, pale, shaken, dressed in very modest pajamas, long sleeved, covering every inch of her delectable flesh.
It was in the unguarded moment when she hadn’t yet registered his presence that he saw beyond the façade she presented to the rest of the world.
She looked infinitely fragile and so very vulnerable. She looked . . . lonely. Sadness clung to her like a fog, surrounding her with such heaviness it made his heart ache. Then she glanced up, eyes startled as she realized she was no longer alone.
And just as quickly, the barriers were back up, her face becoming impenetrable. But he’d already seen beyond it. Knew what was underneath.
“This really isn’t necessary,” she protested when he shoved the glass of wine into her hands. “I’m okay, Jensen. It was very kind of you to bring me home, but I feel foolish. It was stupid of me and now I’m just embarrassed.”
Jensen ignored her protests and settled onto the bed next to her, their thighs nearly touching.
“Who did he remind you of, Kylie?” he asked gently.
She went pale and immediately averted her gaze. She took a long swallow of the wine, gulping at it almost as if she needed the liquid courage it would bring to even dwell on the earlier episode.
“My father,” she blurted.
She immediately squeezed her eyes shut, regret etched in her forehead. She shook her head in bewilderment, obviously asking herself why she’d confided that much.
“Is he still alive?” Jensen asked.
She nodded.
“And does he live here? Do you ever see him?” he prodded.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “And no, I don’t see him. Ever. I have no desire to. I wish he were dead. I wish it had been him and not Carson. It’s not fair.”